


the shape of the universe (and other constants)

by queenieofaces



Series: a wizard named B. Ham [5]
Category: New World Magischola (Live-Action Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, NWM semester 2: tempus and fate magic boogaloo, NWM1, NWM5, NWM: Winter's Cry, also approximately six hundred other characters mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11656632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenieofaces/pseuds/queenieofaces
Summary: Beatrisa doesn’t have magic just yet, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t see the shape of the universe, the ways stars can be connected to make something bigger than their whole.  She understands that she is but one point of light, but maybe she’ll be a special one, some kind of pivot point around which a constellation can be built.  She will grow up to be bright, she thinks, a marshal fighting evil, a light illuminating the darkness, a knight leading the charge into battle.  In the grand scheme of things, her existence will matter.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is broken into chapters for ease of reading, but is intended to be read in one sitting despite being monstrously long.
> 
> Necessary warnings: Looking at the world through Bea's eyes is kind of like looking in a funhouse mirror made of anxiety and self-loathing. She has some very alarming opinions about death that might ping as borderline suicidal and is intensely self-destructive. Also her mother is still very depressed. It's a bad time all around.

Beatrisa Hamilton is born and raised in Destiny, like her father and his father before him. Her father teaches her how to clamber through windows and find the entrances to secret passages, and he tells her, “This is your heritage.” He teaches her to respect fate, to embrace destiny, to use prophecies to understand how things are _meant to be_.  

Her mother only pushes back once.  “You make your own fate, _mija_ ,” she tells her, braiding Beatrisa’s hair so tightly she winces. “The future isn't set in stone.” But Beatrisa listens to her father's stories, hears her neighbors talk, and understands that fate is bigger and more powerful than she could ever be.

Beatrisa doesn’t have magic just yet, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t see the shape of the universe, the ways stars can be connected to make something bigger than their whole.  She understands that she is but one point of light, but maybe she’ll be a special one, some kind of pivot point around which a constellation can be built.  She will grow up to be bright, she thinks, a marshal fighting evil, a light illuminating the darkness, a knight leading the charge into battle.  In the grand scheme of things, her existence will _matter_.

***

Beatrisa is a mindreader.  She learns this slowly, putting together clues, discovering the empty space where her father’s love should be and the sputtering despair eating at her mother despite her best attempts to put on a brave face.

Once Beatrisa knows, there is no reason for her parents to keep pretending.  Her father leaves quietly.  Her mother remains, but leaves in her own way.

She feels her mother withdraw into herself, knows intimately the way her mother’s mind consumes itself with grief.  Beatrisa is fine, because she can’t be anything but fine.  She has to build mental barriers so she can better keep her mother upright, has to find some way to filter and cope so she can keep their family from falling apart more than it already has.  Her mother is the center of her universe, and she tries her best to maintain her orbit, even when it hurts her, digs into her chest and makes her feel like she’s dying.

She blunts her dreams for the future.  She will never be a marshal--her magic will force her into astromancy.  She will not be a hero--who ever heard of a heroic astromancer?  Still, she thinks, flipping through books with an illumination charm when she’s supposed to be sleeping, she can still be a light illuminating the darkness.  Her magic leaves her jittery and wrung out by the echoes of someone else's mind, but she’ll take the crap hand she’s been dealt and turn it into something _useful_.

***

Bea learns the hard way that P2A4 was not built with space for children who hear and feel too much, whose only weapon is magic too powerful to let loose.  P2A4 was not built for children with no self-esteem or self-regard, who can only see themselves as tools for someone else to use, the right-hand and second best to the real protagonist.

P2A4 teaches her to swallow her words, to restrain her magic, to lift her chin and introduce herself by her full name. She is dangerous, and she will carry herself like it, flashes steel at anyone who tries to push her even if she doesn't dare fully draw her sword.

(She draws on Bastian once. He sees her at her worst and ugliest, as everything she won't let herself be, and he calls her _talented_. She hates him and she _hates_ him and she can't understand how he can treat her as he always does when he knows what lurks beneath her surface.)

She finds people she trusts, people she would follow into hell and back, other points of light to give hers meaning.  Vita has a sharp tongue and a mind that is constantly moving, drawing connections and making judgments, and Bea can’t help but marvel.  She’s exactly the sort of hero Bea imagined growing up to be, and Bea easily falls into step beside her, ready to offer her assistance, however paltry it may be.

Bea’s options seem to decrease with every year until only one path stretches before her, long and narrow. Bea will become a court mindreader--she can utilize her gifts for good within a rigid enough framework that she needn’t worry about slipping. It's the perfect path forward. It's the _only_ path forward.  When she tells her guidance counselor, her back is straight and her hands are steady and she can barely hear her own disappointment.

***

“Your life will be short and bright,” the mermaid tells her, “but history repeats itself and so shall you.  A mistake twice made will be your downfall and so you shall perish.”

Bea runs.  She runs and runs and runs until her legs give out and her lungs burn and her vision blurs.  She stumbles and falls, gashing her hand against a rock.

She sits on the ground, alone and scared and bleeding profusely, and sobs until she can’t breathe.

***

Bea was born and raised in Destiny, believes in fate, understands her place in the universe.  She was fated to be a court mindreader, fated to be a follower, fated to assist those more powerful and special than she.

 _I just won’t make any mistakes_ , she thinks, as though fate is ever that easy.  If she is perfect, her prophecy can be ignored.   _This is doable_ , she thinks.  All she has to be is perfect.  She can’t allow herself to be anything other than perfect.

Bea straightens her tie and squares her shoulders and holds herself to impossible standards. At the end of her first year at New World Magischola, she secures a spot on the Disciplinary Tribunal, and that's good, a step in the right direction, the logical progression of her chosen trajectory. There are days when she is so tightly wound that she feels like anxiety has swallowed her whole and she's just waiting to be digested, but that's a small price to pay for knowing that what she's doing is undeniably _right_.

***

When she sees Jos and thinks, _Oh no_ , she thinks of her mother drowning in tar, pulling Bea down with her, all because she loved too hard and cared too much.

 _I will not be my mother_ , she thinks.   _I will not repeat her mistakes._

***

She does not repeat her mother’s mistakes.  

(She takes Jos’s hand and the world does not end.)

Instead, her mistakes are fully and entirely her own.

(She watches the Tribunal debate what to do with Elliot Cayne, and thinks faintly, _Oh. I'm going to_ die.)

***

She sees Persie at the dance, stripped of her wand but still standing tall, and she cannot bring herself to hate her.  She knows that she is supposed to--Bea is light piercing the darkness and uncovering the truth, the sword of justice swinging down on the criminal, the one who _did the right thing._   She knows that what Persie did was morally wrong, a misuse of her powers, exactly the sort of thing that Bea opposes with every fiber of her being.  She’s never really even _liked_ Persie, just been forced into orbit around her by their class schedule and Persie’s strange magnetism. Persie always pushes and pushes, half mocking and half serious, and Bea bares her teeth and lifts her chin, flashes a sword she won't commit to drawing.

And yet.

And yet, she cannot bring herself to hate Persie.  She cannot look at Persie and not feel sickening empathy.  She cannot say that she doesn’t understand why she did it, that she wouldn't make the same choice if she were in her position.  

(She wouldn’t make that choice.  She _wouldn’t_.  Her mother still sits at home unchanged, and she has rules, rules that are meant to keep her magic in check.  But she cannot bring herself to say it.)

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it.

She pulls herself to her full height, back straight, hands steady, and means that too.

(This is her first mistake, but she does not know that yet.)

***

The problem is, every structure that has kept Bea upright, every way she has understood herself and her place in the universe, is suddenly destroyed in one fell swoop. She thought she could distinguish right from wrong, but through the filter of Elliot's memories, they seem to blur together. She thought she could be perfect, but she’s made one mistake, and will surely make more.  Death looms certain on the horizon.  Bea was born and raised in Destiny, and she knows, she _knows_ you can’t fight fate and expect to win.

She makes her peace with her impending mortality. Or, not _peace_ , because that sounds too calm and quiet. She stands uncomfortably next to her impending mortality and avoids eye contact. She doesn't want it to sit in her living room and sip tea, but she's afraid to ask it to leave. She stares down the path that stretches before her, sees that it ends in her untimely death, and keeps walking anyway. What else is she to do? She is not smart or special or brave or heroic. She is not anyone for whom fate would be willing to bend. All she can do is see her destiny coming and be useful with the time that remains to her.

Which leads to the second problem: Bea likes tempus magic.  It’s dangerous, yes, and should only be used in emergencies, but she _likes_ it.  She likes the absolute silence, the absolute stillness when she steps out of time. She likes the way it feels, like anticipation and bated breath and that electrifying moment of calm before a storm.  She likes the way it gives her an escape hatch--when everything becomes too loud and too present and too much, she can just step out of time.  Never for long (not that losing time is an issue for her, since her prophecy means she won't get to use that time normally anyway), but it offers her a brief and much needed respite. No one ever needs to know.

**

Raegen Almgren appears at the Falls Lodge, and Bea makes a split-second decision.

When the dust settles, _everyone_ knows.

***

She keeps trying to explain that she's _fine_ , really, she's going to die and _that's_ _fine_ , but no one is listening. They keep demanding answers and expressing shock and horror, and, frankly, this is why she didn’t tell anyone about her prophecy.  Grappling with her own emotions in the face of her mortality is hard enough--she doesn’t want to manage everyone else’s.

Robin asks her during Truth or Truth if she'll tell them when she needs help, and she says, “No,” because she cannot lie.

***

After returning from the Falls Lodge, Bea quietly writes a letter to Vita and another to Ari.  She knows how the Magischola rumor mill operates, and her best friend and her mentee should hear her news first-hand rather than through lunchtime gossip.

Vita cuts through Bea's attempts at dissemblance and makes her promise she'll let her friends protect her.

Ari ignores the news about the prophecy and asks about tempus magic.

***

Bea does not mean to assemble the Tempus Magic Study Group.  She is not a leader or a teacher, not anyone to follow or look up to.  Still, thanks to her ill-conceived moment of attempted bravery at the Falls Lodge, most of the school seems to know that she’s a tempus mage.

Some members she starts teaching privately, trying to offer them another tool to handle whatever problems they’re facing.  Others approach her with quiet questions, notebooks at the ready.  In the end, it seems most efficient for all of them to meet together and pool their ideas.  Bea is no leader, no teacher, but she can organize time and space for them to meet.

In the end, they are six--three cursebreakers, two astromancers, and a marshal.  They each bring something different--an eye for detail, a relentless drive to be more powerful, an insatiable curiosity.  Together they are stronger than they could ever be on their own, blend their magics to create something entirely new and so beautiful it makes Bea’s chest ache.

Bea looks around the circle and thinks, _If I die tomorrow, this will be my legacy_ , and the thought is strangely comforting.


	2. Thursday

One moment Vita is standing before her mother, chin raised and voice strong, and the next she is on the ground.

When Vita stands again, her eyes match.  She looks right at Bea, looks right _through_ Bea, and asks, “Why are you looking at me like that, Hamilton?”

Bea does not cry. Her best friend is looking at her like she's a stranger, but she cannot allow herself to cry.  Vita needs her and Dan Obeah needs her and as long as she keeps herself in motion, she won’t break down, so she can’t let herself slow down for even the briefest moment until all of this is fixed.

***

They bring Vita back, of course.  Dan Obeah is a house built upon the ideals of change, transformation, and healing, and they are fiercely protective of their own.  When something needs to be fixed, when some injustice needs to be righted, they will not turn away, no matter the danger.

It takes all of them to even begin to undo the damage Amelia Radcliffe-Forsythe has done to her daughter.  Amelia Radcliffe-Forsythe is more powerful than a group of scared students huddled in a ritual circle in the Dan Obeah common room; she has had years to bend her daughters to her will and remake them in her image.  An improvised ritual supervised by wizards-to-be couldn’t possibly erase years of trauma and conditioning, but it doesn’t need to.  All they need to do is loosen the hold on Vita’s mind, find some crack in the barriers and chip away until they create a hole wide enough for Vita to escape.

Bea does not like projective mind magic--she is too dangerous to be given control over someone else’s mind--but she needs her best friend back.  She will use everything at her disposal--Lee’s memories, Hana and Jayden’s healing, Naomi’s mind magic, Moghedien’s steady support, the spirit and strength of Dan Obeah--and she _will_ bring her back.

“I’m a lesbian!” Vita shouts, and that’s what finally makes Bea break down, her anxious slurry of emotions bubbling over in laughing sobs.

***

Bea has known Vita for long enough to have no illusions about who and what Vita is.  Vita is sharp-tongued and quick witted, a sword disguised as a pen. The world has not been kind to her, may never be kind to her, but she is a strategist. She keeps track of every bit of ground she loses, then watches for complacency or a slip in attention and strikes back.

Vita knew her mother would try to fix her.

Vita knew her mother would come for her with poisoned words and illegal spells.  She knew her mother would repair her eye and remold her mind and leave behind someone completely different.

She put her trust in the students and faculty of New World Magischola to witness and _care_.  She put her trust in Bea to bring her mind back, pitting her against one of the greatest mind mages Bea has ever had the misfortune to meet.  She put her trust in Jayden to heal her body, to rip apart her mother’s handiwork with their wild magic.  She put her trust in Dan Obeah to rally around her and lend their strength.  She is a strategist, and she read the signs and put her plan in motion, and if just one thing had gone wrong, she would not be here to calmly lay out her logic while Bea tries to keep from shaking apart.  If just one thing had gone wrong, they could have lost Vita forever.

“Didn’t you know that Dan Obeah would follow you into hell?” Hana snaps, and Bea wants to tell her, “Yes, yes, of course she _knew_ ; she was _counting on it_ ,” but she’s already said too much.

***

At the house ritual, Bea binds herself to Dan Obeah.  She will not allow any more of them to be hurt; she _cannot_ allow any more of them to be hurt.  She will take whatever time remains to her and protect them, whether they like it or not.

***

They are six, but all it takes is one slip, one misaligned intention, for everything to go wrong.  

Bea can feel them sliding sideways through time, the sand of the dueling grounds twisting and warping around them.  She thinks, _If we all die here, it will be my fault_ , and that’s enough to send her scrabbling for some purchase on their original timeline, something to hold onto so they don’t drift any further than they already have.

When time settles back into (more or less) its proper course, she discovers the wand in her bag.  It is decidedly _not_ the wand Jay lost at Yule--it makes her teeth hurt and her blood curdle when her fingertips brush against it.  She drops the slagerod into the middle of their circle, and tries not to hyperventilate.

The study group springs into action--they came to study tempus magic, but they’re far from defenseless.  Jay confirms that the slagerod is tied to Ari.  (Bea doesn’t feel a twinge of envy, because she wouldn’t wish Bastian’s magic on anyone, but she has no other word to put to the spike of emotion that seizes her every time Jay can just look and _perceive_.)  Together, they ward the slagerod, layers upon layers of magic, defenses and alarms, charms to hide and protect it.  They hand it over to the only marshal among them, the only one who has any experience with slagerods, and promise to meet as soon as they can to sever the connection.

They are six first- and second-year students with a heavily warded slagerod, the vaguest outlines of a plan, and more knowledge of tempus magic than is strictly safe, but damned if that will stop them.


	3. Friday I

Bea doesn’t know what Bastian did, but suddenly she can _sense_ magic.  She’s trying to assemble an artifact for cursebreaking class, but keeps being distracted by the resonances of all the materials, the sharp metallic bite of the wires and the pulsing aura surrounding the bowl of purified sand.  She’s never been particularly good at artificiery, but today everything just _clicks_.  She pulls together all the different threads of magic and condenses them in clay and crystal and thread, infuses them with fairy dust for calming and boo hag skin for protection. (Bea has never been good at cryptozoology, can barely tell a boo hag from a Jiwa Setan on the best days, but she looks at the magical aura of the bloody chunk of flesh Vita is carrying and she _sees_ and she _knows_.)  Vita transfers the spell to the objects, and Bea etches in runes to create a doorway. Nothing explodes, nothing backfires, and her magic ( _not_ her magic, obviously not _her_ magic) flows smoothly and easily from her.

It has been years since she’s looked at her classmates and seen their magic curling around them in brightly colored auras. It's been years since magic was something she could feel and see and hear and taste.  For once, she isn't crushed by all the minds around her, doesn’t hear anyone else’s thoughts or feel any emotions besides her own.  She still has access to mind magic, but it’s something she can turn on and off, something she can reach for, instead of something constantly thundering in her ears and shaking her bones.  Other magic, unfamiliar magic, whispers in her ear and sings in her blood and tries to coax her to just try, just see what she can do, test the limits of her power.  Her wand is dull and unmagical and so, so obviously just a stick, but if she had a _real_ wand...well.  Who knows what she could accomplish?

***

If Bea pulls herself out of time between her second and third period classes, just steps out of reality for a moment to get a respite from the constant sensory overload, well. What Dan Obeah doesn't know, Hana can't scold her for.

If she seems more grounded and less like she might vibrate off the face of the earth from sheer anxiety in ritual magic class, no one comments.

***

Bea is planning on speaking to Bastian as civilly as she can manage.  She is planning on asking politely what the hell he did to her and requesting equally politely that he undo whatever it is.  She is planning on resolving all of this before lunch and then carefully avoiding him for the rest of the term.

Then she finds out he switched their prophecies without her knowledge or permission.  It’s a gross violation of her consent, ridiculously dangerous, and _he stole her prophecy_ (and with it, her magic).  It's _hers_ , every awful word, every bit of power she’s never wanted, and _she needs it back_.

“Give it back,” Bea demands, and she can't remember the last time she was this angry.  “Give it back right now.”

“I am so serious right now,” she snarls, and she can feel herself shaking.  “You know what I’m capable of.”  

 _I broke a boy in primaschola_ , she does not say, but they both know the threat lurks behind her words.   _I broke a boy and nearly broke you, and I have only gotten stronger.  Do not test me._

Bastian grins at her, smug and self-satisfied, and insists, “I can’t,” and that’s the final straw.

Bea's never needed a wand for mind magic, never needed anything other than her hand grasping his and her magic loosened from its restraints and her anger blazing so hot that it burns through her anxiety.  Bastian’s mental defenses are pitiable, and Bea tears through them easily.  Without his magic creating cacophonous interference, his mind is easy to navigate, and she is angry enough not to hold back.  She will raze him to the ground, worm her way into every nook and cranny, find the way to switch them back, because _Bastian isn’t allowed to die_.

Bastian is vaulted stone ceilings and family heirlooms, self-assurance and superiority, the crushing pressure of the deep ocean.  Without his magic, Bastian is categorizable, just another mind following a well-worn track, and Bea could crush him, she could break him, take out years of frustration on him right here and no one would be able to stop her.

Bastian makes no attempt to hide his thoughts from her, not that he could even if he wanted to.  He’s so laughably _transparent_ , like he _wants_ her to know.  He’s trying to save her.  He doesn’t want his prophecy either, but he doesn’t trust anyone else with it.  He trusts her to turn her back on the siren song of ultimate power.  He knows she won’t fix her prophecy if she has it, but if he takes it upon himself, well, then she’s obligated to find some way to circumvent it and save him.  He--

She tears her hand away from his, rips away from his mind as though it could burn her.  The sudden separation of their minds _hurts_ , the beginnings of a headache pounding behind her eyes, but she can’t stand to follow his train of logic to its conclusion.  She hates him and she _hates_ him and she hates how well he has her pegged.

Bell tells her that they can fix this with the help of the Artificier Association, but Bea can barely hear her over the pounding in her ears as Bastian just stands there and _smirks_.

***

Bea is a mindreader.  She is reminded of who she is-- _what_ she is--every day in overheard thoughts and second-hand emotions.  She cannot control what she learns accidentally, so she misses context, lacks information, fails to read between the lines. She gets bits and pieces, the beginnings of threads, and then holds herself back instead of pursuing them. She assumes the best (or the worst), ignores contradictions and warning signs, gathers information but does not analyze it critically.

She sees Persie remolding mundanes’ memories, but she’s sure that there’s some alternate explanation, so she apologizes and doesn’t think of it again.  She sees Jayden with blood on their hands, but Jayden is good and trustworthy and a healer besides, so she ignores it.  She feels surges of affection from Barius, but since he doesn’t ever mention it, she puts it out of her mind.  She catches dissonance from Ari, like the same song played in a minor key, but Ari is strong and smart and her mentee, so she doesn’t investigate.

Jae rips the bandage off Ari’s arm to reveal a Gorecaster mark and Bea knows she’s made a terrible mistake.

There’s a functional slagerod sitting in the center of their ritual circle, and her mentee is a budding Gorecaster.  She’s been teaching Ari tempus magic for _months_.  She was going to recommend Ari for The Conclave and give her control over the school wards.  She trusted her intrinsically and vouched for her and welcomed her into her space.  

With Bastian’s magic she can see that something is _wrong_ with Ari, like she has two auras inhabiting one body, but even without his magic, she’s had all the pieces sitting right in front of her for ages and never bothered to fit them together.  She’s seen red flag after red flag and ignored them, because Ari is kind and Ari is good and Ari could never be power-hungry or malicious.

 _Oh_ , she thinks.   _Summoning that slagerod last night was not accidental_.   _We all could have_ died.

She can feel panic filling her lungs and pulling her under.  She promised to be useful, but she put all of them--Aven and Ryan, Phee and Jay, Vita, Dan Obeah, the whole school, the whole Magimundi maybe--in danger.  She has to do something, anything, to fix this--take down Ari, turn her in, watch her stand trial for her crimes so she’ll never be able to hurt anyone again.  She can testify against her.  She can watch Ari be dragged away to Avernus and know that she’s _doing the right thing_.

She doesn’t want that.  

She doesn’t want to believe that Ari is irredeemable, that the other version of her has won out.  Ari has been fighting herself for so long, and if Bea turns her back on her mentee now, she knows she’ll never be able to forgive herself.  This might be a mistake and is not strictly legal, but she’s willing to take her chances.  She will give Ari a chance at some kind of redemption even if it kills her.

“We can fix this,” she says with conviction she doesn’t feel.  “We’ll figure out how to fix this.”

***

When she finally manages to find the correct classroom, Bastian is sitting in her mind magic class.  Bastian is sitting in her mind magic class and _using her magic_.  Bastian is sitting in her mind magic class and volunteering to be observed and fidgeting with a bird amulet, thumb circling in an endless loop, creating sensation to ground against the sensory overload of mindreading.

“He’s got my tick,” she hisses, as she mirrors Bastian’s motion, thumb rubbing anxiously against her ring (except _he’s_ the one mirroring _her_ ; it was hers _first_ ).  “He _stole_ my tick.”

Barius tries to talk her down and distracts her with other things, but she's still quietly seething through the entire class, gaze darting back to Bastian every few minutes to glower.

***

Bea was born and raised in Destiny, understands the shape of the universe, and knows that fate should be treated with the utmost respect.  Bastian refuses to switch their prophecies back unless Bea’s is changed, and Bea knows--she _knows_ \--there is no way to change his mind.  He is stubborn, and, honestly, this would all be so much less complicated if she could just hate him.

(She still bristles and spits, bears her teeth and flashes him the code of chivalry in the back of her notebook.  He may be stubborn, but so is she.)

The problem is, Bea has gotten used to her prophecy.  It’s not comfortable, but it is familiar, like the tar that pulls at her whenever she goes home, that flicker of recognition and judgment when people hear her name, the nervous energy constantly buzzing through her veins.  She has made her peace with her impending mortality--stared down the path that stretches before her, seen that it ends in her untimely death, and kept walking anyway.  There has only ever been one path before her, and it may not be pleasant, but it hasn’t required any _choice_ on her part.

Hana suggests switching the word “perish” for “change”--her revised prophecy would read, “A mistake twice made will be your downfall and so you shall change.”  It’s fitting--Dan Obeah is a house built upon the ideals of change, transformation, and healing, after all--but Bea has no idea what it _means_.  Death is easy--death is simple--but _change_?  That could mean _anything_.  The path before her has suddenly branched, winding off into unfamiliar territory, and she has no idea how she is supposed to navigate.  The unknown is terrifying, but she’s surrounded by a circle of friends expecting her to leap at this opportunity.  Bell is giving up her connection to The Trickster, the Artificier Association has poured their heart and soul into building things for this ritual, and Bastian is watching her with that familiar smirk, like he can see right through her.  She can’t tell them _no_.

***

Bea hands back the postcard, and suddenly Bastian’s magic is gone.  Her own magic pulls at those around her, bringing her bits and pieces of information, spikes of emotion, half-formed thoughts.  She did not miss it, but it is, for better or worse, part of who she is.  She is not comfortable, but comfort has never been the goal.  She is whole, and that is enough.

Everyone else turns their backs, and Bea socks Bastian right in the jaw.

***

Bea looks around the circle at their study group, ribbons clenched tightly in her hands.  They came together to study, and now they are here to rescue one of their own members from herself.  Bea is so, so sorry--she never meant for this to happen, and perhaps it’s all her fault, ignoring every dissonant thought she’s been catching from Ari for months, having all the pieces but refusing to put them together, again again _again_ , this _keeps happening to her_.  But still, still, she is so proud of all of them, sitting in a circle and tempering their fear with resolve, willing to put themselves in danger to offer Ari a chance at redemption.

“Who is Ari?” Bea asks.  “What is Ari?”  She lets magic curl behind her words, and it’s _her_ magic, not Bastian’s this time.

They call for Ari by name--the _real_ Ari, Ari who is just and kind and loyal, Ari who always does what she thinks is right--and names have power here.  Bea weaves together their individual contributions, their care and respect and affection, to create a rope for Ari to anchor herself to their timeline.

“Who is Ari not?” Bea asks, and she puts her full power behind her words.  There are bits of her magic she hates and fears--shadowy corners and manipulative impulses--but she’ll embrace every terrifying piece of it if that’s what it takes to save her mentee.  “What is Ari not?”

“Ari is not a Gorecaster,” they agree.  “Ari is not cruel. Ari is not evil. Ari is not a killer.”  They name each quality Ari is not, separate it from her and banish it back to whence it came. The other Ari may be powerful and cruel and malicious, but there are six of them (whether they lend their power in presence or in absentia) and they will fight tooth and nail to protect their own.

Ari is the salty sea breeze, navigating by the stars on a clear night, an unwavering march toward a better future.  Ari is Bea’s mentee, a fellow bird, a member of the study group and the Scooby Squad.  Ari is a marshal and a daughter and a friend.  Ari is not perfect, will always have the option of walking back into the shadows, but together they will build her a path, stand at the edge of the darkness and call for her to walk back toward the light.

“Tempus restorum,” they chant together.  This time their intentions are perfectly aligned.  “Tempus restorum.”  Their combined magic reaches for Ari--the real Ari, across time and space. “Tempus restorum.”

Together they call for Ari, and she comes back.


	4. Friday II

Vita names Bea and Jayden the next house presidents, and Bea feels fear grip her as she stands to face the house she is supposed to lead.

Bea is not a leader. She’s not charismatic, not authoritative, not inspiring or clever.  Her voice shakes and squeaks when she tries to speak, and she trips over her own feet. She misjudges and falters, lashes out in spite and restrains herself in fear. She can see the shape of the universe, and knows she wasn't built to be a hero, not like Vita, not like Jayden, not like Jae or Ari or Milo.

Dan Obeah makes her want to try, though.

***

“Jason isn't here,” Thanatos Akeldama crows, and Bea shouts at Jay to run and get help. It's only when it's just the two of them, Ari and Bea standing in the rain with their wands raised against an incoming tide of revenants, that Bea remembers that she's rubbish at dueling and _mind magic won't work on revenants_. Ari's defending both of them, and all Bea can do is stand beside her and not hyperventilate. She has to let the rest of The Conclave know that Thanatos is coming for the Harbinger. She has to keep both of them alive. She has to keep _Jason_ alive and, oh god, she was named house president less than three hours ago and already something has gone wrong.

They run into Doug Samson and Jasper Creed and Bea shouts orders at them before running for the ritual room at top speed. When she bursts in, hair wild and breath short, her fellow students--Conclave members, friends, however Savia should be categorized--spring into action immediately. They're completely unqualified to face this threat, but damned if that will stop them.

“My mentee’s out there.” Bea's pacing, nearly vibrating out of her skin with nervous energy, as everyone else prepares as best they can for whatever's coming. “I left her alone out there.” They barely just got Ari back--if they lose her here, Bea will never forgive herself.

“Do what you need to,” Nate tells her, and she's sprinting away again before he's even finished the sentence.

***

Bea is not a leader.

She knows this about herself and accepts it. She's not charismatic, not authoritative, not inspiring or clever. She cannot give a rousing speech or lead the charge into battle.

But she is good at organization. When she puts her mind to it (and she often _doesn't_ , but when she _does_ ), she can put the pieces together, see how everything fits together, trace connections between points of light. She looks at the chaos of the defense against Thanatos Akeldama, and she's still rubbish at dueling, but she has _information_. She _knows_ her classmates--their strengths and weaknesses, the things that make them irrationally angry and the people they would die to protect, their best parts and their worst and everything in-between--and she can _use_ that knowledge.

Bea shouts orders, directing marshals forward and healers back, pointing her fellow students in one direction or another.  She is not a leader.  This is not _leading_.  She just knows who’s in the room and what’s happening around her because her mindreading won’t let her _not_ know.  This is resource allocation, and she is _good at it_.

***

Jason--Jason’s body, at least, even if not Jason’s mind--is writhing on the ground within the ritual circle, hurling verbal abuse at everyone in earshot.  Bea sees the circle of students prepared to face off against the greatest threat they’ve ever known, Nate with his pendant at the ready, and she knows what she has to do.  The Registrar taught her tempus magic to keep her fellow students safe, to ward powerful rituals and deflect spells far beyond her capacity, and that is exactly what she’ll do.

“Tempus minorum,” she incants, trying to tune out Nate’s instructions and Thanatos’s taunts.  “Tempus minorum.”  They don’t slide out of time so much as lurch, and she scrabbles to maintain a grip on the spell as it tries to twist out of her grip.  “Tempus minorum.”  Her magic isn’t extending far enough--she has to fight to keep all the participants within her ward.  “Tempus minorum.”  She grits her teeth and puts every ounce of her will and magic behind the spell to keep them all suspended out of time.  If she slips, if she hesitates, if she lets go, none of them may survive the consequences.

Ari sacrifices ten percent of her power, and Bea knows she has to do better.  Her mentee is giving up a piece of herself, a piece of her power, a piece of what defines her, while Bea is struggling to maintain a simple tempus ward.  She can do better.  She _has to_ do better.  This is her purpose, why she learned tempus magic in the first place, what she was _meant to do_.

“Tempus majorum.”  The words are unfamiliar on her tongue, but she’s heard The Registrar use them before.  “Tempus majorum.”  Magic surges through her, making her whole body tremble.  “Tempus majorum.”  Channeling magic through a proper wand is still a strange sensation, but she can’t let her focus waver for the slightest moment.  “Tempus majorum.”  All the participants fit comfortably within her ward, but she’s fire burning too hot and too bright, plate tectonics reshaping the world with friction and imperceptible movement, the inexorable march of time grinding everything around her to dust.  She is too little and too much and has never existed more than she does in this moment.

Nate ends the ritual and Bea barely manages to choke out, “Tempus finito,” before she sways, vision swimming.  All her restless energy suddenly drains away, leaving her exhausted and hollowed out.  She can feel herself sliding sideways out of time, but she can’t focus on staying upright, let alone keeping herself anchored to the present.  She passes out before her body even hits the ground.

***

Bea used to think of time as a straight line connecting the past to the future via the present.  Since learning tempus magic, she's started picturing time more like a stream, with eddies and whirlpools that loop back on themselves and slow lazy stretches.  She steps out of it, sometimes--lets it flow past and enjoys not being pulled along for the briefest moment--but mostly she lets it carry her wherever it wills.

If time is a stream, Bea is a rock skipping along it, touching the surface ever so briefly before flying on ahead.

Bea is sitting at graduation, Vita taking the podium as valedictorian, and then--

Milo looks at Jae and his whole face lights up, and then--

Ari looks up at the stars, and then--

“Bea.  Hey, hey, Bea,” Bell says, and Bea is pulled backward in time for a moment.  She can feel panic around her, voices overlapping and dredging up memories that happened so long ago, but she is skipping faster, the stream of time turned into a raging torrent sweeping her away.

Bell is bright, bright, bright, the power of the school wards curling around her, and then--

The tempus magic study group finally perfects that timeline transportation spell, cheering when Jay’s wand reappears in their circle, and then--

Vita stands guard over Dan Obeah, the house monitor rather than the president, and then--

Bea turns her casebook for the Disciplinary Tribunal over and over in her hands, all the pages finally filled, and then--

“Remember when Oleksandr sent you to Japan?” Delilah asks, and yes, yes, she does, but that was so far in the past it isn’t relevant.

Jos looks at her and does not remember her face and--

Ari is commended for the arrest of six Gorecasters, and Bea is so, so proud and--

Bea stands before the students of New World Magischola and they call her “professor” and--

Ari is baring her forearm, where they removed that Gorecaster mark so many years ago.  “That was today, Bea,” she says, and Bea knows she isn’t lying, but also.  Also.  It _wasn’t_.  She’s sure it wasn’t.  Something is _wrong_.  Something is wrong and she doesn’t know _what_.

Mietto and Roxy lead a gaggle of nervous first-year cryptozoology students into the forest and--

Bea’s mother sits alone at her kitchen table in the darkness and--

Hana is named the head of the hospital, defiance having softened into something less explosive but still simmering in quiet resistance and--

Bea draws her wand and lifts her chin and wields her full name with self-assurance instead of defensive fear and--

She can feel her friends trying to pull her backward in time, but there is something coming for her.  She knows it, deep in her bones, but it’s hard for her mind to grasp exactly what it is when she’s moving this quickly, just catching impressions and flickers and reflections.  She wants to know, though.  She wants to know what happens at the end of her story, whether she goes out in a blaze of glory or a quiet whimper, if she is _useful_ , if the arc of her existence has any meaning.

If she goes forward, though, she might not be able to come back.

_This is not when I am meant to be_ , she thinks, and she turns her back on her future and follows her friends back to the present.

***

Candlelight flickers over the faces of The Conclave members--those who have been protecting the school wards all year, and those who are stepping up to fill the holes made by graduation, transfer, the inevitable passage of time. The last time they attempted this, they had the guidance of The Registrar and none of them knew the danger. Now they know the danger but it's only them--Nate the cursebreaker, carrying the power of Thanatos in an amulet; Emitt the mind mage, back from the dead; Timothy the cursebreaker, no longer swinging wildly in impenetrable armor; and Bea the mind mage, Bea the tempus mage, Bea anchored firmly back in the present as much as she might want to stray.  They’ve survived so much this evening, but there’s still one more challenge to face.

Emitt explains that this task is not to be undertaken lightly, that joining The Conclave is a lifetime commitment, all the things they’ve had to learn the hard way since the beginning of the year, yet no one backs down or walks away. Bea knows all four of them, knows who and what they are--Ely, overflowing with love; Barius, fighting to protect the best possible timeline; Aven, searching for power and finding something else; and Ari, Ari, Ari, who is so many things to Bea, who she’ll keep offering a hand up and space to grow and anything she can spare.

Bea is not a leader, but the other members look to her to begin the ritual.  It only makes sense, since she’s the only current member who won’t be graduating in a few hours. She is not a leader, but The Conclave has never needed one. They're in this together, as equals, no matter what.

Bea calls on the north node. The power of the wards feels familiar--it's always lurking just close enough for her to reach out and grasp it, humming above her head and soaking into her bones as she sleeps. It's the power that, combined with Oleksandr’s ill-conceived prank, sent her careening across a continent and an ocean, and it's the power that made her reinforce all her barriers, relearn her limits, strengthen her own restraint. More than that, though, the power feels like _theirs_ \--Emitt and Timothy and Nate most clearly, but also Monty and Xel and Persie and Minerva, Jos and Tamsin and Alula, every member of The Conclave who has intertwined their magic with the school's.

It takes eight of them, four old members and four new, to reinforce the wards and transfer power to the new members.  They call on the nodes one by one, pull their power into their ritual circle to be added to and shared.  Bea likes ritual magic at this scale, likes the structure and beauty of it, likes being a small part of something bigger than herself.  It is not easy, but there are others to struggle with her, lend their strength and their power, bits and pieces of themselves to build something new.


	5. Saturday

Bea was born and raised in Destiny, understands the shape of the universe, and knows that fate should be treated with the utmost respect.

She is fairly sure that enlisting the help of The Trickster to willfully rewrite fate is not respectful.  The Fates stand before the astromancers at their first exam and she is _terrified_.

(Maybe that is why she does not listen to instructions as closely as she should, hears “cut a life short” and assumes that they mean _her_ life.  She will cut her life short with very little hesitation--she’s already done so hundreds of times, a few seconds here, a minute there.  By the time she has realized she misinterpreted, it’s _too late_.)

***

“Happiness will always be just beyond your reach,” her fate reads, and she thinks, _Well, I wasn’t expecting to be happy anyway_.  Heroes get happy endings, but she is not a hero.  As long as she can be useful, as long as the arc of her existence has some meaning, that is enough.

She almost volunteers to take Absolon and Tenny’s fate, because she knows how to face the prospect of dying young.  She switched her prophecy less than twenty-four hours ago and people would probably be angry with her, but change is, frankly, terrifying.  She made her peace with her mortality, but now she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do without it motivating her every choice.

(She doesn’t volunteer, in the end.  Bea’s pretty sure The Mother already hates her, and she would prefer not to antagonize The Fates any more than she already has.)

She feels guilty about Emitt, Phee, and Bell sharing her fate with her, because they’re meant to be heroes.  They’re meant for happy endings and standing ovations and legacies that live on long after they’re gone.  Bea was born and raised in Destiny, and she understands how these things work.

The Maiden binds the four of them together, and Bea thinks that, surely, there must have been some mistake.

***

Bea takes The Crone’s hands and looks into her eyes and _sees_.

“I will choose my own death,” she says, and she thinks of turning her back and walking away rather than seeing what lay ahead.

“When I die, my mother will still not be fixed,” she says, and she thinks of her mother sitting alone at the kitchen table in the darkness, of setting herself impossible tasks and hurling herself at hopeless causes.

“When I die, my death will be useless and accomplish nothing,” she says, and that’s when she starts sobbing.

***

She is going to murder Bastian.  

Well, not _murder_ him, because he still isn’t allowed to die, but.  But.

She is going to murder Bastian.

***

When Bea puts her mind to it, she can put the pieces together, see how everything fits together, trace connections between points of light.  If she wanted, she could trace each successive moment that led to her melting down in The Pit, every experience that shaped her and maladaptive thought pattern no one has ever corrected.  Her friends don’t know what to do or say, but, really, they should have seen this coming.

The problem is, Bea is a mindreader.  She is so busy trying to deal with everyone else’s thoughts and feelings that she rarely considers her own.  She can only define herself in relation to others--a right-hand and second-in-command, a sidekick, a loyal follower, a star to give shape to others in relation.  If she can’t be useful, then what’s the point of her?  She would rather be fated to die young than live a long and meaningless life.

“That’s stupid,” Jayden snaps, and Bea trusts their judgment more than she will ever tell them, but they’re obviously _wrong_ \--they don’t _understand_.  “You don’t have to be useful to take up space.  What are you doing?  Stealing air from everyone else?”

“Get your shit together, Bea,” Jayden spits before stalking away, and Bea can’t think of anything to say in response.

***

The second astromancy exam is downright simple by comparison.  Bea has always been better at dealing with other people’s minds than her own.

***

Bea tells Barius she’s been self-medicating with tempus magic the whole year.  Once the words have left her mouth, it occurs to her that this might be alarming behavior.  It’s always been a few seconds here, a minute there, nothing to worry about, but put into its larger context, she can almost understand why sometimes Hana looks so worried for her.

“I’m…‘getting my shit together,’” Bea tells Barius, and she finally agrees to ask for help.

***

The Grunch is charging straight at their ritual circle and despite all of Moxie’s yelled instructions, all of their planning, the knowledge that _this is a good thing_ and _what they wanted from the start_ , Bea is gripped with fear.  The Grunch is huge and purple, and Bea, despite her best efforts and rooming with Milo for the semester, is _failing cryptozoology_.

_I am not equipped to handle this_ , she thinks faintly, and then she calls on her connection to the school wards to enclose the ritual circle, because terrified or not, Milo’s counting on her.

Channeling the school wards by herself, as it turns out, is nothing like renewing them with The Conclave.  Pure magic courses through her and she feels like all her blood is boiling, her veins full of lightning, her ears filled with the screech of the wards as they are willed into a shape they would prefer not to take.  Casting with The Conclave is hard, yes, requires a tremendous amount of concentration and stamina, but she’s only ever been one corner of a net, one part of a whole.  She is doing this alone, and it is truly _awful_.

The Grunch is banished and Bea loosens her hold on the school wards.  They slide back into place, a buzzing hum surrounding the school rather than a wail trying to turn her inside out.  Her entire left side is a blaze of pain, and she feels utterly wrung out.  Hana is injured, and even if she weren’t, Bea is fairly sure this isn’t a problem a healer can fix.

As she limps to dinner, she swears she’s never going to do that again.

***

Bea has known Jayden for long enough to have no illusions about who and what Jayden is.  Jayden is shadow and ink, the bite of the winter wind, vigilance and skepticism.  Jayden is a lycan and her co-president and someone she trusts intrinsically.  Jayden can be harsh and cruel, will not blunt their sharp edges and gentle their hands, but Bea respects that about them.  Their words and their magic can hurt, but sometimes the pain is part of the process.

Jayden is also, apparently, a killer.

Jayden confesses, laying out their crimes one at a time.  They’ve obviously thought through this conversation, their words careful and practiced as they watch for her reaction.

Bea is angry.  She’s felt the emotion enough in the past few days to be able to recognize it.  She’s angry with herself for not catching on earlier despite catching glimpses of blood and ominous thoughts. She's angry with Jayden for knowingly hurting others, letting their curiosity override their moral compass. She’s angry with her house for not doing more.  She’s angry with the school for making Jayden feel unsafe.  She's angry with the Magimundi for being unkind.

Jayden is looking at her with carefully cultivated disinterest, and Bea knows what she is supposed to do. She is light piercing the darkness and uncovering the truth, the sword of justice swinging down on the criminal, the one who _does the right thing_.

“What you did was wrong,” she says, because she needs them to know that.

“If you need help getting off-campus, I'll help you get away,” she says, because she needs them to know that too.

(She does not forgive them.  She may never forgive them, but maybe forgiveness isn’t the goal.  She’d rather give them a chance at some kind of redemption than cut them down where they stand.)

***

Bea cries through more of the graduation speeches than she’s comfortable admitting.  Jayden is leaving, and she will have to lead Dan Obeah on her own.  She knows she has to be strong, but the past few days have been too much.  Every way she understood herself and the world around her has been overturned, and she’s still trying to pick through the debris to find something she can use to build something new.

So she lets herself cry, just a little bit.  If anyone sees, they don’t comment.

***

Jayden tells Bea and Vita that they’ll stay, if they’ll still have them.

“Of course,” Vita says.

“You're making a mistake,” Jayden tells them.

“If this is a mistake, it's one I want to make,” Bea replies.

(This is her second mistake, but realization does not hit her until she is back in the dance.   _Oh_ , she thinks, frozen stockstill as a mass of bodies twirls and jumps around her.  She pulls herself to her full height, back straight, hands steady, and wonders what Persie would think.)

***

They do not win the house cup this time.  There is no cheering, no crying, no applauding as hard and fast as their hands can shake.

Bea is still not a leader, despite having the Dan Obeah presidency.  She’s not charismatic, not authoritative, not inspiring or clever.  She trips over her own tongue and gives a profoundly lackluster speech.  

Bea is not a leader, but maybe someday she could be.  She sees all the possible paths stretching before her and she is still afraid, but she will force herself to walk until it feels natural.  Who knows what the future might hold?

“Change is good,” Jayden says.

Bea looks out over her fellow students and thinks, _Maybe it is_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read all that, you are honestly a champion, holy cow.


End file.
